


Flight 1743

by xJordanKayX



Series: At first sight [1]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 08:51:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12650232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xJordanKayX/pseuds/xJordanKayX
Summary: Jamie and Claire meet on the flight from London to Boston





	Flight 1743

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of a series of A/U one shots I am in the process of writing. All of them center around their first meeting in different scenarios. I'm posting all of those as individual, complete stories, but keep an eye out for a possible continuation of one or the other, if I should find a scene I think fitting to explore in this particular A/U. 
> 
> And on a last not, I am willing to accept promts to any of my Alternate Universes or even new first meeting scenarios. If you want to, just message me directly :)

Flight 1743

He wakes from his light slumber when the seat next to him moves. He opens his eyes, peers at it from the corner of his eyes. A bag has appeared suddenly but there's no one around. He shrugs his shoulders, sinks back into his own seat and closes his eyes again, intending to drift back off until his flight is called. 

Five minutes later and he's still awake, the owner of the bag hasn't returned yet. He's sitting in a discreet corner, alone, which is exactly what he had wished to be when he'd settled in to wait. His job's stressful enough, he hasn't slept in days and though he's not technically famous there are still some people who recognize him every now and then. No one ventures that far for a seat, when there are more than enough free options available in better light and condition, so it's the perfect place to not be disturbed – or to settle a bag you wish to not be stolen when you need to step away for a moment. 

He's curious now, about whoever put the luggage here. Did they know him, or did they just assume his sleeping form lee likely to snoop through their things than the loud family of five sitting on the bench nearest him. He glances around, making sure nobody is coming his way, then he shifts his gaze to the bag. He's not intending to snoop through it or even take it, but he sees a small paper sticking out of the only open pocket and he squints at it without moving closer. Boarding Pass. He looks it over, the part he can see without touching it, a smile coming to his lips. Interesting. 

He resigns himself to the fact, that he's not going back to sleep anyway and pulls his phone out of his jeans, checking some of the work emails and details for the conference he's headed to. Absorbed in his own thoughts, two minutes later he doesn't realize he's not alone anymore until a pretty English voice speaks from beside him. 

“Thank you for being decent enough to not go through my things” He shuts his phone, turning around with a smirk and a retort ready on his lips and is at a loss for words. 

The voice belongs to a gorgeous face, framed by dark curls that accentuate beautiful, kind eyes. They are the colour of good Whiskey, he notices and then realizes that he's staring. His right hand is drumming against his leg; it's a nervous habit and he can't seem to shake it now. She has to be the most beautiful woman he's ever laid eyes on he thinks. 

He swallows, tells himself to get a grip. “Aye, that's alright. But you shouldna be leavin' yer things like that. I could ha' been anyone” She doesn't make any indication of recognition and it suits him well. It's rare having a pretty lass talk to him without her bragging about it afterwards. He does, however, see something in her eyes shift when he started talking, he just can't put a name to it yet. 

“Great, you're Scottish” Ah, so that's it. Pissed the pretty lady off already without actually having done anything yet. 

He watches her go through her bag (searching for something or making sure he really didn't have his nose in things that don't belong to him?), zipping it back up and settling into her seat, paying no more attention to him. At least she hasn't left. Scottish or not, he seems to be better company than the aforementioned family. 

“Dinna fash yerself, Sassenach, I kent that already” Is that a smile she's trying to hide by gnawing on her lower lip? 

“I'm fairly certain we are in my country right now” It's true enough, in London she might not be a foreigner or an outlander, but still...

“Ye're still an English woman, are ye no?” The shrug that accompanies the casual question has her actually laugh. It's a great laugh, he wouldn't mind hearing it more often. 

Tension thus broken, she holds out a hand to him. “I'm Claire” 

“Jamie” 

They talk for another five minutes about nothing really, small talk, the weather – he makes her blush when he tells her he loves the colour of her hair – and then he finds himself asking about her seemingly dislike for all things Scottish. He's not even sure why he did it, she obviously has her reasons and she doesn't even know him, but since he falls under the category 'Scottish' he thinks he has a right to know. 

“That's a long story” She brushes him off, but with a smile. She's not shutting off their conversation but there is obviously something she doesn't feel inclined to divulge in. 

“Lucky we ha' 'bout six and a half hours to talk then” He won't push her on the answer for that question, they don't know each other long enough for that, but he likes how her face scrunches up in confusion. “Ye're in the seat next to me” 

“How...?” She breaks off, a dark look crossing her eyes. She thinks he did go through her things after all, and he needs to fix this before she murders him right here in the airport. 

“I told you it's dangerous to leave your things out in the open like this” A soft smile appears on his face and he's biting his lip so not to laugh at her. He indicates towards the open pocket on her bag, where the Boarding Pass is still sticking out rather prominently. She reaches out for it, touching the piece of paper briefly before retrieving her hand again, quickly as if his gaze had burned her. He's seen it though, the thing she tried to hide from his view – and god knew why – decides not to comment on it. A wedding band. Damn. 

They ended up talking until their flight was called to board and then they make their way inside together, still in conversation. He never asks about the wedding band, or why she didn't want him to see it, and the husband obviously in the picture. He learns about him anyway just two hours into their flight. He's told her about the work conference he has to attend to and she's impressed at his description of his job and what he actually does. She really had had no idea before hand who he was - and he appreciates that a great deal more than he ever thought possible. 

She's flying to Boston to meet her husband. The man's teaching something or other there (he doesn't really care about the man so he doesn't bother remembering it), has been for a while. She's starting medical school in England in a bit, she says, that's why she hasn't joined the husband in America yet. 

When they touch down in Boston a little after schedule, they are comfortable with each other as if they hadn't just met this very day. She gives his hand a light squeeze and leans over to hug him briefly. Then she's getting into her cab, he takes the next one after her. When she's out of sight, he let's out a breath. Claire. He never got her number. 

 

**** 

Three days. That's how long he had stayed in Boston, giving speeches and listening to other people talking about things he doesn't care about. Okay, so he does care about those things, it's his job after all and it's vital information for making it big in his line of work, but they could have sent anyone. Why would it have to be him? 

Worst of all, he can't get Claire out of his head. He's thinking about her laugh every time he's bored by another one of his colleagues and her beautiful smile is the last thing he sees before slipping into sleep. And even there she has been a permanent presence for the last three nights. It's pathetic. He has no way of seeing her again – no last name, no address, no phone number – and who's to say she even wants to see him again? She's married, for heaven's sake. 

It doesn't stop him from thinking of her, though. 

He's late to the airport on his flight home, having not been able to dodge several attempts at conversation from various new acquaintances prior to leaving his hotel. He's just in time for boarding, ques himself to the back of the line and it's just as great. He's moping, doesn't want to be either recognized or talked to. The attendant scanning his ticket gives him a flirty smile and he ignores her. She's pretty enough, he could have asked for her number and he's sure she'd have given it to him, too, but he doesn't want her number. He doesn't want anyone's number except Claire's. 

“This has to mean something surely” His head snaps around and he's staring right into the gorgeous eyes he has been thinking about non-stop for the last three days. When he got to his seat he had, of course, noticed someone already occupying the window seat, but he wasn't interested in anyone but her so he's ignored his neighbour. 

“Aye, to be sure” He feels his mouth lift into a smile and a warm feeling spreads through him when she gives him one in return. “I didna think ye'd be flyin' home so early” What he wants to say is 'I didn't think I'd ever see you again' but that's too forward. After all, they still don't know each other. 

“I have to be back at work day after tomorrow” She gives a non committal shrug. Looks like she's still not comfortable talking about Boston and the husband. “How was the conference?” Reverting attention back onto him, good tactic – there's been a time not so long ago he would have done the same. 

“Boring and long. But” he adds “I think I might have made some lasting connections” 

Someone behind them admonishes them to be quiet for the Safety Instructions and they resume their conversation when they are safely in the air. It comes as natural as it had the first time, talk just seems to flow between them without having to think about it. 

It's an hour into their flight when she laughingly dismisses something he says, waving her hand in his direction absently. That's when he notices what's missing. The wedding ring. He grips her hand mid-air, holds it in his own gently and asks in a soft voice. 

“What happened?” She looks and behaves happily enough. There's no sadness or grief or anything indicating she had just dumped her husband since he'd first met her. It's like it doesn't bother her at all. 

“Mhhhh?” She needs a moment to figure out what he is asking. “Oh, that” Another dismissive wave of her hand; this time the right one since he's still holding the other. “Recently divorced” She leans back in her seat, her hand feels good in his where she hasn't pulled it from yet. She intends to leave it at that, it seems. 

He needs a whole five minutes and a lot of prodding, before he gets the whole story. Turns out this never was supposed to be a romantic vacation getaway to visit her husband, but a last attempt to finally bring the divorce proceedings to an end. The husband's been holding out on signing and filing them, trying to talk her out of the divorce and into joining him in America. But, she says, she's done living the life someone else dictated for her. She'd filed the papers when the husband told her he doesn't want her to go to medical school.

He listens, not saying a word, not interrupting her word flow. When she's done, he squeezes her fingers, tells her about his miserable love life. It gets the intended result – she's laughing; no sign of the light shadow that had crossed her face when she recounted her story. She might not be sad about being divorced, but she still is. 

Hours later, they leave the plane and, then, the airport hand in hand. They stop to hail a taxi for her and when she leans over to embrace him in farewell, he has a acute sense of deja-vu. 

It's only when his phone dings in his pocket, indicating a new message, that he smacks his palm against his forehead. He still doesn't have her number, damn it. He reaches for the device, frowns at the unknown number accompanying the text. He still opens it. Then he smiles.

*You shouldn't be leaving your things like that. I could have been anyone*

He texts her back a witty and, hopefully, flirty reply. He saves her number under *Sassenach.*


End file.
